The Magic of Exams
by write-love-latte
Summary: Exams do something to people, Muggles and Wizards alike. Here's what they do to the people at Hogwarts. DMGW, RWHG, BZLL, PPNL & more. Short little ficlets in honor of exams. Smut. R
1. Burning Up the Broom Cupboard

The Magic of Exams

**Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-)**

Summary: Exams do something to people, Muggles and Wizards alike. It seems students at each school have a unique way of reacting to the stress. Some form study groups and work like rabbits. Others procrastinate and go to the movies. Heck, some even decide it's time to go see the Screaming Banshees in concert. Here's what they do to the people at Hogwarts.

Burning Up the Broom Cupboard

Exams, at Hogwarts, were a fairly imminent part of every student's schedule, especially Hermione Granger's. Usually, these exams would be held near the end of the year; just at that time where everything seemed to get smoldering hot and sweaty. The grounds would be brimming with lush green grass and dotted with the odd budding daisy; the Forbidden Forest would be a cluster of closely packed leaves, lacing themselves together in various shades of green. And yet, despite this seemingly attractive exterior, the moment you stepped out of the blissfully cool castle, sweat would dot your upper lip and begin to trickle disconcertingly down your back, a feeling that irritated even the likes of Hermione Granger! Girls who had worked tediously to make their hair perfect, would squeel in horror as the moisture caused a frizzy, fried-out look, not too much unlike Hermione Granger's. The boys would groan and moan about their school shirts sticking to their backs, and loosen their ties. Nevertheless, many students (especially those who ignored the studying rituals people like Hermione Granger had set), found themselves sitting dangerously close to the lake, aching for the sprinkles of water the squid unleashed every time he surfaced. Some would even dangle barefeet in the shallow, as though daring the merpeople to come up and pull their swirling toes.

And Hermione Granger was all Ginny Weasley could think, her cheeks red (with heat or anger, no one could tell), and steam just about coming out of her also plum ears. No one could deny the youngest Weasley looked a lot like her infamous family when angry; reddened to just about the shade of her russety locks, ears very prominent on her upright head. Her nose had a distinctly feminine look to it, as did her large, almond-shaped eyes, and even her delicate little mouth--perhaps her extensive smattering of freckles was what linked her to them most noticeably.

Yet _Hermione Granger_ sailed idly through her head, like a little, dreamy sailboat, coming unobtrusively back again and again to bang against the shores of her mind. It was _annoying_. Perhaps that would explain why this said girl found herself quite evidently enclosed in a broom closet? She herself was not sure; all she was aware of, was that Hermione Granger had driven the last nail into the board. In the Common Room, mere minutes before, Ginny had just about _exploded_ in frustration, bottled up from days of harboring it. Despite her fairly mild temperament, she did not do much better than Ron at hiding her explosive red-head temper.

She had just needed to escape really; escape from the shocked glares of her fellow housemates, and Hermione's pronounced look of offense. Well, well, maybe the girl deserved it! Maybe that explosion had been too long in coming for the scratchy know-it-all, but even as Ginny had the thought, she knew in her mind it was not true. Hermione had really, only, being trying to help, despite Ginny's profound refusal of her aide. Perhaps she had been too quick to anger--perhaps she should apologize. But--but then what? Let the trio go back to treating her like a little child? Like someone who needed to be fawned over and monitored constantly? Really, it was _not_ in the least Hermione Granger's business to go telling _Ron_ that she had been snogging Dean Thomas in an empty Charms classroom! Ginny huffed with indignation--really! She was _sixteen years old_, not _six_! Ginny was pretty sure she could make the right decisions on who to snog, and who not to!

Anyway, maybe she'd apologize to Hermione when Ron apologized for breaking Dean's nose. Yes, that sounded fair.

Ginny idly ran a hand along the coarse wooden wall of her little enclosed space. It was splintery and none to smooth, but she still let her fingers trace over the little cracks. It was _exam_ week, and Ginny had never felt more out of orbit. Not only did her snog-buddy get punched in the face by her angry brother, but it didn't seem like she could do anything right since getting caught by Hermione that day. She felt jumpy, as though she was being watched, and perhaps more than a bit snappish.

She sighed, bringing her knee up to rest against the wall of the cupboard. It was a very small space, and not the most comforting one to be if you were even a little claustrophobic. Ginny fit with enough space to maybe hold two other people, if they were packed together very tightly, but in all honesty, she didn't really mind. It was a nice closet, just a floor above the Dungeons and located in a relatively isolated corridor. That meant, if she was really, _really _crabbed, she could get in here and scream as loud as she pleased. Not to mention that the small space muffled the echoes accordingly, not letting it get into corridors that were more densely populated.

Anyhow--Ginny was stressed. She itched all over and had a constant throbbing in her head. Her first exam was tomorrow--Charms. It consisted mainly of a written part (that Flitwick assured was 'short'), and then the technical. Ginny wasn't _really_ worried, but still she found herself running the charms over in her head, and then reciting important dates beneath her breath. So she _hardly_ realized it when some large, heavy thing barrelled into the door of her hiding place. If she had been listening, then maybe she would have heard the previously chanted curses, and the incessant tapping of a wand against the door of her little spot. But of course, she hadn't, so when the second thud came, she jumped so high she almost met the ceiling.

As a precaution of not wanting to be caught, Ginny frequently charmed the lock closed. She had never considered what she would do if another person tried to get in--had hardly even realized anyone but her would want to get themselves into this boringly cluttered space. She cleared her throat a little--then; 'What if it's Filch?' That thought scared her lips sealed.

She hardly made a move, hardly took a breath, too afraid of being caught, until she finally heard the revealing characteristic. She hadn't even been listening that hard, so she assumed the person on the other end of the door had likely raised his voice. It was an all too familiar baritone, deep and gravelly and _all too obnoxious_. She felt her temper flare up, disbelief clouding her mind. Now was _not_ the time for snivelly little Malfoy to be banging like a maniac upon the door of her little salvation. _Definitely not_. But the pressing question was, _what in Merlin's name was he doing here?_

But she was already seeing red. If she had to remain in here all night and day, she definitely would His voice had lowered now, to an almost desperate tone, and his banging became more quiet. Eventually, it ceased altogether. Curious to see if he had left or not, Ginny muttered the reverse charm and the door fell inwards--with it crashing a startled young Malfoy. To her horror, he quickly gathered himself, pushing the door closed again and murmuring a locking spell on it. "What-?"

Her words were muffled as he pressed his palm frantically against her mouth, undoubtedly shushing her. "Quiet," he whispered harshly, his eyes still on the door. She wondered idly if he realized who he was sharing a broom closet with, whose mouth is palm was currently pressed against. His hands were rough with calluses, from his broom, she was sure, and he was clad in his school robes. He looked pointedly disheveled, one sleeve half way up his forearm (where he had undoubtedly pushed it), the other hanging around his fingers. It was slightly off his shoulder and Ginny could see a dangerous much of his chest from where his shirt was unbuttoned. It was untucked and hung around his heaving form with, Ginny noticed, an envious amount of grace. Even his notoriously slicked back hair was out of place, his usually pale cheeks showing a small, barely noticeable amount of color.

He looked devilishly handsome, and Ginny could not help but shudder when she realized how close he was pressed. They were locked in a very, very small broom closet. His shoulders were painfully, attractively broad and his head grazed the ceiling, hair catching in the splinters. Ginny's head reached maybe his chin, and her hand felt comfortingly warm where it held his forearm, trying, now absently, to push it away from her mouth.

Then she heard the searching footsteps, clattering purposefully down the hall. She was sure the person was wearing heels--ridiculously pointy heels, she discerned. Ginny took a deep breath, wondering who Malfoy had been running from, and incidently breathing in his male scent. It was a husky, spicey sort of smell, almost welcoming. She did a double-take, perturbed eyes looking up to the side of his neck, as his head was turned towards the door. She had never figured he would smell anything other than cold.

Finally, the sound of those heels vanished down the corridor, and he breathed an evident sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging and his hand leaving her lips. For the first time since he entered, he looked at her--and promptly tumbled against the door. "_Weasley_?" he swore, none too friendly. She noted he made no move to unlock the door, and sighed. She hadn't overheard what spell he used--freeing herself from this...trying predicament could take some time. Time she didn't know if he'd allow her.

"Malfoy," she said tiredly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She prayed he wouldn't play with her temper today. She didn't now if she could handle it. And anyway, it was getting awfully hot in here.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, scornfully. Ginny wondered if it should be legal for anyone to look that handsome when they were trying to be nasty. When she didn't answer, he continued, "Feigning some semblance of a love-life? What, since Potty can't push you into broom closets, you coming alone?" He seemed to find that last comment pleasing, and smirked contentedly. "Pathetic."

Through his words Ginny cheeks had grown continuously more scarlet, her already loose temper again waiting to blow. On his last word she just about flew at him, pressing him wildly to the door and beating fists everywhere she could reach. He obviously recoiled from her punches--she imagined they weren't too easy to endure, as years as a Chaser had toned her nicely. Eventually, he regained his composure enough to push her gruffly off of him, one hand reaching to his bleeding lip as her back hit the opposite wall. Exhausted, she slid down to the ground, the tips of her toes touching his even though she had her knees bent. Still, she glared up at him menacingly.

"Fuck, Weasley," he said, his eyes wide with distaste, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Piss off," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear, "And get out." She pointed meaningfully to the door behind him, her bruising fists promising more if he did not leave.

But he did not take the hint. Ginny wondered if the snobbish bastard had ever had to take a hint in his life. Idiot Malfoy thought he owned the whole world. Instead, he leaned, relaxed against the door, arms crossed over his chest and one knee bent. That said knee just about got Ginny in the face. "Well, no," he said, arrogantly, "I have to ask you Weasley, is this what your house is like? Must feel a lot like home to--"

He didn't get a chance to finish, because Ginny had already pounced to her feet and landed him a hard one in the stomach. He choked, before recovering and driving her to the opposite wall again, this time coming with her. To her horror, her wrists were trapped in his hands and his knee wedged between her legs, preventing her from escape. "Fuck, Weasley," he said again, "You're all fire, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, as though he found something amusing about this situation.

"You're in a good mood, aren't you, prick?" Ginny spat bitterly.

He faked shock at her words, before answering, "Why, I suppose you could say so. I just avoided both Parkinson and Filch, in one go. I imagine I have something to be proud of."

Ginny rolled her eyes, her body bristling beneath his. She was just about sweating now, he extensive body heat not helping a bit. Not to mention his smoldering eyes, like melted mercury as they bore shamelessly into hers. They were filled with a dark murk and perhaps too much arrogance. "Get off me," she commanded--or perhaps it was more of a challenge, "I'm not in the mood for this."

"In the mood for what?" he smirked innocently, "This?" To her mortification, she found his lips on hers, the "o" of her mouth allowing his tongue a free entrance. She pushed wildly against him, trying to disengage herself, but when his tongue brushed hers, she was goner. He rubbed surreptitiously against her body, and she was startled to feel the poke of his arousal on her abdomen. However, as much as she tried, she could neither pry his lips away from hers to get a word in, nor could she resist his expert mouth on hers. His lips felt heavenly, and despite herself the very _idea_ of his arousal (and possibly the tempting circles his knee was making between her legs) caused a wet pool of heat to drip from her stomach southwards.

"What the fuck?" she panted when he let his mouth drop down to her jaw, nibbling on her neck, "What are you doing?"

"None of your business," he muttered against her skin, sucking and licking with focussed passion. Ginny rolled her eyes, an almost smile forming at his childish answer. He felt like fire all over her skin, sweat dripping down her forehead, only to be licked away as he rose to look into her eyes.

It wasn't one of those devoted, lover's glances he gave her when indeed those mercury orbs returned to her honey-glazed ones. It was a mischevious, boisterous sort of look, accompanied by a matching grin, that made her breath hitch in her throat, her hands needily shoving his robes off, fingers fumbling with his shirt.

When finally she made contact with the sweaty skin, she released a loud moan of approval, the sculpted muscles of his chest roiling beneath her exploring hands. She didn't even realize her shirt had been discarded until he pushed her back to the cool surface of the wall, shocking her heated skin even as his fingers found the lace of her bra and played her nipples through it. Each time his fingers brushed one, white hot fire erupted in her loins and she bit passionately onto his neck, eventually creating a rhythm of sucking. And when his hot mouth closed over her peaking nipple through her bra, she could only arch, a deep sigh emanating from her mouth.

Her hands, tired of scratching along his bare shoulders, drifted downwards to his bum, squeezing lightly before coming around to his erection. It was hard and straining against the fabric of his trousers, and the thrill of what was happening leaked excitedly down her spine. She had been taking Witch's Brew for a long time now--for those times when she and Dean decided they needed something more than snogging. But this, this felt like so much more. This was _Draco Malfoy_, all fire and flesh before her, groaning in pleasure as she touched him through his pants.

This was _more_.

When his questing fingers finally found themselves beneath her damp knickers, Ginny just about shattered in his arms. She hadn't even realized how much she had needed this, how aroused she had been. Riding out her finale, she collapsed, spasming pleasantly in his welcoming arms. To her surprise, he kissed her almost tenderly on her sweat matted forehead (for by now, the broom cupboard was reminiscent of a sauna), and gently lowered them to the ground. Her knickers were discarded, and she found her trembling hands undoing his pants. When he sprung forward, throbbing and long and ready, she swore she could have came again.

He entered her, slowly, almost with a lover's affection, slipping into her fiery body with a satisfied groan. Her back was propped against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he knelt on the ground before her, sliding with slick heat in and out. She could hardly believe it, could hardly believed how she cooed and encouraged, running shaking fingers through his sweaty hair. He was intense--this was not the giggling, awkward love she had made with Dean. This was serious, concentrated; far from his boisterous grin previously, he was now the picture of attention. His eyes were closed, brows creased, as he held her hips to angle himself. Ginny found herself in a much different situation, however, marvelling at the size of him, hot and thick within her--she found herself arching in pleasure and teetering on that pleasant edge in what seemed like mere minutes.

She seemed as though to slide into that blissful state--it was not the earth-shattering experience she had had by his fingers. This was expected and she felt it build, and when finally it overcame her body, it seemed to last for minutes. By the time she had finished, he had as well, shuddering the remnants of his release against her chest.

They lay there for a while, her hand absently stroking his hair away from his forehead as he lay limply against her. Then, recovered, he extricated himself from her, taking his head from its perch on her shoulder to look at her satisfactorily. "You really are all fire," he joked, grinning almost pleasantly. She rolled her eyes. He sat up, fixing his trousers, before again placing his back against the door. "I'd suggest you fix your clothes Weasley. Your brothers wouldn't like to know you were whoring yourself." She blinked at his sudden change in demeanor, found her body too drained to say a word.

She yawned instead, and he seemed shocked by her reaction. "I think I needed that," she said, getting to her feet and righting her clothes shamelessly before him, "Definitely put my temper back in check."

He growled from where he was, but got to his feet as well. He found his shirt and robe, and got to putting them back on. He was still buttoning up his shirt when he opened the broom cupboard door, letting in a blast of cool, fresh air. "I have a Transfiguration exam tomorrow," he said, absently as she stepped out before him.

"Charms," she replied idly, adjusting her skirt. He got out as well, pulling the door in behind him.

"Well, Weasley, definitely not a bad shag," he said arrogantly, the chill of the corridor bringing them back to earth, "I've definitely had better." Ginny noticed with satisfaction the large hickey on his neck.

"I'm sure," she replied, not bothering to say anything more as he turned to walk away. She rolled her eyes, grinning. She felt sticky between her legs, utterly messy, and yet as though she had been knocked abruptly back into orbit. Some asteroid, probably one named Draco Malfoy, had done that eerily well for her. She could still see him as he walked down the hall, and she called, "Hey Malfoy!" He turned, looking at her with a smirk, "I'm out of a snog-buddy. Care to be my replacement?"

He seemed a bit taken aback, but recovered his Malfoy composure very quickly. He strolled abruptly towards her again, grinning in an almost goofy way. It was distinctly unlike him. "Of course, Weasley," he replied, his voice low near her ear, "But I warn you, we'll be doing much more than snogging."

She figured that since she had to live with a combination of exams and Hermione Granger, anyway, she could live with that.

**Author's Note: fyaaaaaaa. Yes. Smut. YEY! Needed to do that. Well, it's exam week and I started this blissfull little idea yesterday when I should have been studying for my science exam (which was today). Anyhow, once I finished the exam, myself and the boy who has replaced by ex-boyfriend (yes, the one who made me ridiculously happy **_**last**_** summer) got together for something not far from this. Let me tell ya, this one's a keeper.**

**Anyhow, I'm toying with the idea of writing Hermione's POV, with some Ronnikins/Hermione-poo smut to finish off these little exam-week obsessions. Bit hard since I've never exactly written them before, and I feel like I'm on a penchant for OoC. Take Draco just now--uhm, just a little out of it. If you guys have any other savory pairings (no HPGW or DMHG, **_**please**_**) do give. I'll build something up around them and write more smut. Since, you know. Smut is the cheese. Try to make it something that will go with this plot. Anyway, review and give me your opinion!**


	2. Doing What in the Dormitory?

The Magic of Exams

**Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-) This chapter will be the first I have ever written of a ship that is not Draco/Ginny. It's Ron/Hermione and I would really love for you guys to read and review. I tried my bestest. :-)**

**Also, in response to the previous chapter, some people stated that Draco's "state" was not properly explained. Welll, I'm actually trying a new style of writing that dabbles with POVs. It's called omniscient limited, where the narrator's knowledge extends to the thoughts, actions and words of one character, but not to the thoughts of all the others. In the previous chapter, Ginny was my one character. Her feelings, thoughts and emotions were explained in great detail, whereas I left Draco's to the imagination (i.e. he may have entered the broom cupboard horny, or started thinking dirty things the moment he saw Ginny). If, per se, this story gets enough of a good response, I may decide to do the POVs of the characters who weren't explained in a separate story, or separate chapters. **

Doing What in the Dormitory?

The Gryffindor Common Room seemed to be filled with life, wide-eyed youths chatting noisily, their mouths moving this way and that. It was a friendly atmosphere, warm and welcoming as the orange flame that crackled happily in the hearth. It cast long shadows over the walls of the dimly lit room, illuminating plush red and gold armchairs and other accessories of much the same colors. The walls were the only thing grey, the tapestries adding some oranges, yellows and other pleasant colors to the room. In the center was a squat table, covered in too many students' homework and study notes, and outside the two windows, darkness could be seen. Rain splattered against the windows, the evening dark as night because of the angry thunderclouds that blotted out what had been a beautiful day. Before, everyone had been on the grounds enjoying the sunlight, and now Hermione Granger found herself couped miserably up in her Dorm, curled around a pillow on the window seat. For warmth, she had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, her pyjama-ed toes curling from the chill.

She was lost in contemplation, but her emotion was quite visible on her face. She was depressed, her face lined with an afflicted sorrow. Her bushy, chocolate brown hair fell in frizzy strands around her angular face, the faded freckles on her nose and slightly pursed lips giving her a type of prettiness. If you asked any boy, though, they would say her most captivating feature would have to be her eyes, a mixture of chocolate brown and hazel, that were now puffy from the crying she had done.

The reason for much of her crying was one fiery redhead--and miraculously, not the one it usually was. This time it was the youngest Weasley who had rendered her so dejected, and Hermione maintained she had done nothing to deserve it. Short of telling Ron about the redhead's escapades, of course. But she had only been trying to _help_ after hearing those positively _awful_ rumors of what Thomas had done to Lavendar. Of course, Lavendar was not a completely reliable source, even if she claimed the facts were first-hand...but it was better safe than sorry, right?

The Gryffindor know-it-all sighed. She was stressed out and had probably over-reacted on many counts. It seemed that this week too many people were acting strangely, and today even she had fallen in with the crowd. She should have carefully thought over the consequences of her actions before actually telling Ron anything--and once telling him, she still could have remedied the situation by not behaving so irrationally out in the Common Room this evening. She _knew_ how Ginny's temper was, and crying and getting all flustered was not going to help an apology.

'Ah, the whole _school_ is on an uproar because of exams,' she thought to herself idly, twisting her hands nervously around. Tomorrow, all the seventh years had their Transfiguration exam--the one that would count for their NEWTS--and yet Hermione had only read over the textbook chapters twice, and the notes thrice. She found her chest seizing in panic, worrying if she would fail and yet, unlike herself, feeling too downtrodden to go collect her study materials from her satchel. Failing Transfiguration would be the worst thing _ever_. She tried not to think about it.

The Dorm was decorated in much the same colors as the Common Room. Red and gold, with the occassionally different color where someone had strewn a vibrant article of clothing on the floor, or over the wardrobe. Only Hermione's "section", as she liked to think of it, of the room was clean. Her four-poster bed was made up every morning (a task she refused to leave to the often horrified House Elves), all her clothing in use folded neatly on her bronze chest, and all that needed cleaning already down the chute. Her bedside drawer was orderly, and her satchel took its familiar place against the chest at the foot of her bed.

She was all about neatness and order, and yet around exam time she fancied she felt as wild and out of order as the hair on her head. She always worried (excessively, if what she did could be considered _simply_ excess), and regularly forgot to put things back where she had found them. Exam week was not a good time for Hermione Granger, no matter how collected she managed to seem to the others.

She sighed, and gave a bit of a start when she heard the door to the Dorms creak open. She turned, her frizzy hair formed a halo around her face as she made out Ron Weasley. She had grown so accustomed to him and Harry, and even some of the other boys, finding their way up to her Dorm, that she no longer even questioned how they got past the wards. He shut the door gently behind him, and Hermione could just make out a look of concern on his face. He knew, then, that her tears were partially his fault. More than either of them, Ron had probably conducted himself the worst.

He pushed his lips together and his eyebrows drew down a little. It was a face she was used to, when he was regretful and searching for the right words to say. He stood there, his tall, lanky form looking oh, so awkward and out of place. Hermione still could not help but smile at his appearance, though--his hair was mussed up and stuck up a little at the back, his shirt rumpled and untucked. He looked flustered, his tie lost. The red of his hair contrasted, as usual, with the tan of his face and the abundance of freckles splashed over his skin. Nervous looking blue eyes watched her, his large nose giving him a comical look. Still, to Hermione, he looked positively handsome.

She blushed a little at the thought, looking away and out the window where the grounds were being pelted with he heavy droplets. Trails of water skated down her window, and she placed a hand against the cool glass. "'Mione," Ron said suddenly, and she turned to watch him come over to where she was seated. He sat himself down awkwardly. She found she sort of loved the way he was so awkward. "I'm really sorry about the whole thing. Dean's nose and all."

His ears were a lovely shade of red and Hermione found that she could not find it in herself to get angry. The silence was growing so nicely between them as she eyed his ears with a look of utter devotion, that she almost forgot to reply. "It's okay," she murmured, pushing on a small smile.

He grinned at her, happy that his apology had been accepted, running his fingers through his hair in relief. "That's good, that's good," he said, before going still and silent once again. He stared out the window, before leaning forward to press his forehead on the glass where her hand still was. They said nothing for a while, just remaining in a type of companionable silence. Hermione looked outside, too, ocassionally sneaking glance at Ron--and though she could not see it, he snuck glances at her, too. "I like your pyjamas," he said suddenly, before his cheeks turned an attractive shade of beet red.

Hermione almost chuckled aloud. "Thank you," she said in reply, thoroughly enjoying his presence, "I like them, too."

He looked up, then, and gave her his widest smile. A few of his teeth were a bit crooked, and Hermione could not help but again notice his nose--but the smile made her heart flutter. "I-I was wondering 'Mione," he said, uncertainly, "that if, if, you know, when exams are over...you could maybe, I mean, you don't have to or anything--but maybe, maybe you could come to Hogsmeade with me?"

Hermione flushed and hoped he could not see the redness of her cheeks in the dim light. She felt a tingle of happiness race through her. "You mean, you mean like on a date?" She was aware that her eyes were probably very wide, very surprised.

"Yeah," he said, and the look on his face was one of agitation. It looked like he was battling with himself--an internal battle, so Hermione looked on, staring at him in awe, her lips slightly parted. Before she knew what had happened, though, the space between her and Ron (that had seemed quite reasonable before) was suddenly closed and his lips captured her bottom one, kissing her with an undue amount of gentleness. She gasped, and he pulled back, and all of a sudden that wonderful sensation was gone. She stared at him, and he didn't look at her, his eyes on his lap fidgeting nervously. "I-I didn't mean--" And then she had kissed him, hooking a trembling hand around to the back of his neck to pull him closer. One of his hands grasped that one, the other going softly to her cheek.

They pulled apart, Hermione smiling happily. "I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you," she said with a note of finality in her voice. Of course, Ron gave her a bark of a laugh that seemed to release all the nervous tension he had been harboring, before leaning in to, with a slight more confidence, kiss her again. This time his tongue brushed her lip and she opened her mouth submissively, her hand clutching his shoulder in sudden self-consciousness. Her shawl had tumbled to the ground with all her moving, and she was vibrantly aware of her tank top--and bra-less-ness.

One of his hands accidently brushed her breast (as she had feared), and they broke apart, Ron, for once, a shade lighter in red than Hermione was. He stuttered his apology as she reached for her shawl, trying to hide her face. "S-sorry, I mean, I-I didn't _mean_ to, to--"

She straightened up, the goosebumps that had risen along her arms, and the embarassing way her nipples had hardened, hidden conveniently by her shawl. "It's okay, Ron," she reassured, although she stilled blushed, "I..." she hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to say. He sat before her, his eyes flitting nervously from her face to his hands, and she found he looked far too handsome, made her heart beat far too fast, for her to say anything. However, her traitorous mouth found itself in motion, and to Hermione's horror, it said, "I sort of liked it." Ron's eyes widened, and so did Hermione's. She immediately hid her face. Had she just said that to _Ron Weasley_?

He cleared his throat a little, leaning back against the wall, adjusting himself so that one leg was beneath him, the other dangling to the ground on his perch. "Well--" he hesitated, and she wondered what he thought of her now. Suddenly, that space that had gathered between them again was closed, Ron leaning all the way forward to plant a hesitant kiss on her forehead, his hand sweeping the shawl off of one shoulder to rest on the skin there. "I-ah, I liked it, too," he said against her hair, and to Hermione's surprised she found she had thrown her arms around him, holding him tight to her chest even as the rest of her shawl fell away. Her lips were very suddenly pressed against his neck, laying a trail of butterfly kisses there, as a nervous coil of _something_ gathered in her stomach.

Ron pulled her away, his grip firm on her arms, their mouths seeking eachother out, to clash in a whirlwind of passion Hermione wasn't aware either of them possessed. She found herself pushing Ron gently to lean against the wall, both his legs coming up to bend in such a way that she fit neatly in between, half laying on his chest. The rain still fell outside, but she couldn't hear it. All she wanted to do was touch Ron. Their lips parted and she found herself kissing his nose, his cheeks, his neck, whatever she could reach, in a slow but desparate vigor. "Her-Hermione," Ron stuttered, his voice husky in her ear, "What are we doing?" Hermione pulled back, realization on her face. What _were_ they doing? She licked her lips, opening her mouth to answer, only to find that Ron had claimed them again, kissing her heatedly. His hand found her breast through her tank top, and she moaned into his mouth as he gently began to knead it, a finger flitting hesitantly over the pebbled nipple.

She didn't know what she was doing, but all thought had, yet again, rushed out of her head. This was _Ron_, the boy she had loved since _forever_. Her fingers found themselves fiddling languidly with his shirt buttons, reluctant to take them off. Her mind had that much control, at least. Enough control that, despite her unconscious whimpers for more, she still blushed and touched him demurely. Two buttons popped out of place and she slipped a hand into his shirt to graze over the soft skin there. He groaned, his hand leaving her breast to unbutton the rest of his shirt, as he looked her in the eyes meaningfully. It was a slightly strange moment, to Hermione, watching Ron unbutton his shirt for her. But the thought that he did, indeed, want her to touch him seemed to spark something inside her, and as soon as the buttons were undone her lips took off where her hands had started. He lay back for a moment, evidently enjoying the feel of her lips on his chest, but when her teeth grazed his nipple he was back into action again, biting down on her neck as he made to pull her tank top off of her.

Tank top off, Hermione felt suddenly very exposed, and she covered herself shyly. However, Ron pried her arms gently away, kissing the swell of her breast with a tenderness that made her moan. When his hot mouth engulfed her nipple, she wriggled in liquid pleasure, her whole body tingling for him. "Ron," she breathed his name like a sigh as he disengaged himself long enough to peer into her eyes. He smiled at her, a nice smile, one she was familiar with, but his eyes were dark with desire. She knew in an instant what he wanted from her, with his eyes that dangerous shade, and she shivered with the knowledge. A type of expectant delight took her over, as she slowly, with his eyes still on her, pushed down her pajama pants, knickers and all. She huddled, hiding herself, as he unbuckled his pants, watching her intently. "The-the bed," she motioned, and his eyes lighted on it as though it had once been forgotten. He nodded, and to her surprise, picked her up. He carried her over, dispensing her on it with a clean movement and laying across her, between her open legs.

"'Mione," he said affectionately, nuzzling her neck before kissing her collarbone, "Are you sure?"

She pushed him off gently, rising to pull the curtains of her four poster closed around them. With not much ado, she retrieved her wand from her bedside table, uttering the Contraceptive Charm (which she had read in a book) towards her flat stomach. "Now I'm sure," she said softly, placing her hand on his cheek and kissing him. Again they became a tangle of limbs, kissing eachother with extended fervor, but still, Hermione's stomach held a small seed of nervousness. She had never done this before, and she heard it hurt...but this was _Ron_, sweet Ron, her best friend--her love. By the time he positioned himself at her entrance, she was sure of what they were doing. Happy, in a word, that she was doing it with him. He pushed in with little ceremony, kissing her forehead and grunting in ecstasy. She didn't hold anything against him, even the small pain--it was probably his first time, too. Slowly, with what seemed like no rhythm at all, he began to rock into her, taking his time to peer into her eyes and kiss her delicately.

Eventually his movements became frantic , his clumsy thrusts hitting her just so--sending small waves of pleasure through her. She forgot about her previous discomfort--it no longer even existed--and thrust back at Ron just as clumsily. She held his shoulders, ran her hands down his back, until finally she just settled for the bed sheets, wrapping her legs around him as he continued his slightly uncoordinated rocking. Finally, she felt him stiffen, something warm suddenly flooding her as he shook above her, his eyes closed and his teeth biting his lip, hard. "'Mione," he shuddered, collapsing exhausted onto her chest, and she wasn't quite sure why she felt...unfinished. Moments past, and she stroked his hair caringly; eventually he rolled off her, his hand finding hers. They lay there for a while, before he suddenly coughed, "S-sorry." He sounded abashed, a little ashamed.

"Wah-Why?" she asked, puzzled. She was abruptly aware of her nakedness--of his nakedness.

"I-ah, I didn't wait for you."

She was a little confused--then she remembered. She had learnt about this in a Muggle book (though she'd never admit to reading it). "To-" she couldn't say the clinical term, she just couldn't, "To finish?"

She heard him swallow. "Yeah." It was silent for a while, and she looked over at him. His ears were red. "I want you to finish."

His words sent a little tremor throughout her body. "_How_?" she asked.

"I-I'll do it," he told her, sitting up determinedly, "I didn't wait, so now I should." She blinked in confusion--what did he intend to do? But he had already tugged her into a sitting position. He pulled her with him, adjusting himself so that his back was propped on a few pillows against the head board of her bed. She leaned against his chest, her back snug with his front as he moved his legs to encircle her and his hands played nervous designs over her shoulders. "I want you to feel nice, Hermione," he murmured into her ear, and she shivered in pleasure. He was so close and so warm, and it was comforting to be like this. She relaxed into him further, content, letting her head loll encouragingly against his shoulder. She felt him kiss her neck, sliding his lips down to play on the skin of her shoulder. Slowly, his hands began to drift over her body and she closed her eyes to stop herself from blushing at the sight of it. Those large hands slid easily against her arms, the pads of his fingers alleviating whatever discomfort she had imagined. Two of his fingers found themselves on the swell of her breast, testing the soft skin before moving to encompass her nipple. He rolled it between his fingers and Hermione gasped her approval, her eyes fluttering open and her back arching against him.

"Ron..." she murmured, turning her head to bury her face against the side of his neck. His other hand skated down her stomach towards her core, and she grasped his legs with her hands. Slowly, the fingers found her curls, feeling the soft texture of them before venturing lower. Again Hermione found herself gasping as his fingers slid over her heat; she was still slick from before and one of his fingers wiggled its way inside. His thumb brushed some place wonderful as this happened, and Hermione heard herself groan--but it did not sound like her at all. It was wild and exotic and, as if in response, Ron's fingers tweaked her nipple and he bit her shoulder gently. It was wonderful, to her. She could feel the warmth of his body behind her as her own body seemed to heat up rapidly, and the way he was touching her was driving her crazy.

As his thumb began to make sweet circular motions against her hot flesh, the finger inside her gently probed further in, then out again. It was not the same feeling she had had with him in her, but it felt sinfully good as well, and despite herself she rocked her hips towards his hand. Curling inwards, she closed her eyes, finding his shoulder and biting down to stop the whimpering noises that escaped her mouth. "Let go, 'Mione," Ron said softly into her ear, and she found herself doing just that moments later, tumbling haphazardly down some wonderful cliff. Her whole body seemed to convulse with the wonder of it all and Ron's fingers carried her dutifully through, not stopping once. Finally, she relaxed against him, her breath coming in harsh whispers that she tried in vain to gain some control of. Minutes passed and they lay there in silence, Ron's hands now stilled and coming to rest on her thighs, her own still holding onto his legs. "I think I love you," Ron breathed suddenly, incredulously.

Hermione found herself grinning. "I think I love you, too." She wiggled against him and laughed a little when she felt something hard pressing against her buttocks.

"So have you seen Ginny since what happened today?"

Hermione knew instantly what he was talking about, and yet she could not bring herself to sober up at the mention of it. "Well..." her voice sounded light, carefree, "I haven't, so I asked Luna to go look for her."

She could feel Ron frown behind her. "Looney Lovegood?" he questioned.

"Mhmm," she replied, snuggling up against him. They were quiet for a moment, and then Hermione alighted on a subject she could relate to. "So...have you studied for Transfiguration yet?"

**Author's Note: First time I've ever written anything but DMGW. It would be nice if you guys gave me some feedback on how you think I did, but I know a lot of you expressed a dislike for this ship and a preference for a chapter with the dashing Blaise Zabini as a participant of some steamy pre-exam stress-relieving. Still, if you bothered to read this, please give me some opinions! It would be greatly appreciated.**

**And, never one to disappoint, the lovely Blaise Zabini will be showcased in the next chapter. I would have put his scene in place of this, but I am trying to achieve some continuity in the story, so Ron and Hermione had to go first. Anyhow, if you guys have any other pairings you'd like me to write (or just a favorite character you'd love to see with **_**anyone**_**), I would be more than happy to incorporate them into this story. I'm aiming for at least five chappies.**

**Read & Review! Thankies.**


	3. Allure in the Astronomy Tower

The Magic of Exams

**Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-) So here it is. The long awaited Blaise fic! Forgive me if he seems OoC, it's my first time writing from his POV so I'm a little green around the roots.**

Allure in the Astronomy Tower

The halls of Hogwarts were generally friendly affairs--if you stuck to the main corridors. The floors and walls were of a light grey stone that, despite its monotonous colour, was an accepted part of the school. Because along every metre or so of wall there was a lantern flickering delightful little shadows, no one even bothered to acknowledge what would have seemed to be an oppressive atmosphere. Usually, the corridors were wide and well-lighted, some even having high-glassed ceilings to filter in the sunlight and reflect the constant flames that kept the school warm when it was cold out, and too warm when it was nice out. There usually hung portraits of various portly people who smiled lazily or dozed loudly at regular intervals along the walls, and even the ocassional tapestry that added noticeable flair to the surroundings. Every here and there, there were lines of majestic suits of armor, standing always at attention, or some sculpture that would cut the corridor in two. The maze that these corridors were a part of did lead into some slightly more ominous affairs as well, but those were not the paths Luna Lovegood had today decided to take--which, though Blaise Zabini did not admit, was a bit of a relief to him.

Although notoriously Slytherin, even Blaise admitted to not liking to be caught in some strange, nefarious-feeling passageway with only the girl ahead of you (who, coincidentally was unaware of your presence) for guidance. He had grown into a dashing young man throughout his years at Hogwarts, regardless of the fact that he was considered extremely dangerous by most of his peers. Dangerous for his slow, sly smile that slid impassively onto his intensely handsome face, and the way you couldn't read any emotion in his electric green eyes. His dark hair, usually loose on his forehead, fell attractively around his ears in a way that most girls would swoon over--however his tall, imposing figure held them mostly intimidated. Although he was not so social to have joined the Slytherin Quidditch team, he did play in his spare time, and it had _evidently_ done him well.

Today, however, the Slytherin had not stuck to his usual routine of wandering aimlessly throughout the rather deserted hallways. Today, he had found something much better and much more scrumptuous to do. He had, since around lunch time today, found himself following one Luna Lovegood, shadowing her footsteps as unobtrusively as possible. As far as he knew, she had yet to see him, but for some odd reason staring at her erect back, with her fountain of messy, wavy blonde hair and almost too-short skirt was extraordinarily satisfying to him. Where her school robes had made it to, he did not know, but he did appreciate the sight of her cute bum and toned legs--perhaps a little more than he should have. She seemed intent on something, though, and he wondered if she wasn't looking for someone--or perhaps trying to avoid someone?

It didn't matter. She looked cute from back here, and stalking her had probably become his new hobby. He wouldn't admit this to anyone but himself, but he was craving for her to turn around and speak to him. He loved it when she did--she was so delightfully refreshing compared to those other girls. Rather than stare at him with scared, large eyes and mentally drool over him, she managed with startling ease to speak to him. Of course he tried his best to keep up appearances and be distinctly Slytherin, but her airy, negligent manner often foiled his attempts. She was just so very difficult to rile up, so calm and dreamy...He sort of admired that about her.

She was still walking at her trademark easy pace, strolling really, as though a familiar friend stood right next to her and they were going somewhere set. He wondered if she did have a planned destination, and felt his chest sort of seize up. If she did, he wouldn't be able to follow her--if she met someone she knew, or found the person she was looking for, or got where she was going. That was a bummer, since he didn't exactly have anything to do but follow her, and he'd grown rather fond of being able to walk along behind her in silence, lost in his thoughts as his eyes followed the rhythmic sway of her hips. It was a bit hypnotizing, and he found himself completely at ease with this sort of companionship.

Tomorrow was the Transfiguration exam for the seventh years--and yes, everyone had been stressing out over it. Blaise, however, liked to think himself above that kind of reaction to what would simply be a ten page written work, and then a practical. Although the grounds had, because of the lovely weather, been filled with students today, it should also be noted that each and every one of them carried a textbook of some sort--and whether they were actually studying in the midst of horsing around with their friends, Blaise didn't know. He supposed it gave them some type of closure to think that they had the _book_ with them, and therefore would get around to actually _studying_ from it. Now that it was just before dinner, however, and a nasty rainstorm was evidently having its way outside, most people had retired to their Common Rooms, the Library or Study Hall to look over their work (or horse around some more).

Blaise was proud to say he hadn't so much as _touched_ a Transfiguration book all day--he'd been much too caught up in his own thoughts and, now, Luna Lovegood's remarkable behind. She turned a corner, her movements deliberate, and he waited just on the other side until her footsteps had receded a little way down this new hall. It was just like all the others, except Blaise had never seen it before. He hoped she knew where she was going. When she reached a staircase at the end of this said hall, he almost panicked. She stopped, obviously considering where to go next, and he knew if she decided to turn around she would probably look right at him. Luck was with him today, though, as she began to ascend the stairs. It was a winding trip upwards, as he soon discovered, the stairs curled inwards and up, and he had the sensation that they were moving up a narrow tower. The staircase was so very little that even he had to admit to feeling a little claustrophobic.

'The second Astronomy Tower,' he alighted, after several moments of thought. Although he had dropped Astronomy just about as soon as he had picked the course, he knew the vague rumours about a second Astronomy Tower somewhere in the castle. And, of course, a third and fourth and fifth. Hogwarts was so very vast, no one really knew how many Astronomy Towers could exist within its entirety. Maybe hundreds, for all Blaise knew. He only wondered how Lovegood knew about this one, since classes only really used the main one which was a wide, arched affair with a glorious view across the lake and grounds, and an even better one of the sky. Finally, he heard her thudding footsteps come to a stop and he figured she had reached the top--where, he hoped, there was a landing big enough for them both. He continued up as quietly as he could; there were many stairs and it was quite tiring work.

Then, as if from nowhere, her figure came into view, her hands leaning on the large railing around the Tower and her back again towards him. The landing was quite big, and, he now saw, very, very high above the ground. It was surrounded by a stone railing that reached about his waist, and there was probably some sort of spell on the place because, although he could clearly see the rain falling outside the little, circular landing, none fell onto the landing itself. He took a moment to gather his bearings and observe his surroundings, until he finally realized that it had been extremely stupid to follow her up here. There was a large telescope in the middle of the place, and other than that there was nothing for him to hide behind. She would turn around and see him any moment now.

Except she didn't. Instead, her clear, alluring voice rang out in the general silence, cutting artfully through the throng of rain. "So Zabini."

He blinked, a little taken aback. She turned around, then, a small, aloof smile gracing her lips. Her large, blue eyes seemed to hold him captive. "Lovegood." Despite his surprise, he was still a Slytherin and, thus, very capable of hiding his emotions.

"You've been following me for a good few hours now," she stated lightly, bracing her hands loosely on her lips.

The side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. So she'd known. He should have expected that. The girl was so peculiar. "I have."

"You've been staring, for the most part, directly at my bum." That took him by surprise, and he was fairly sure his jaw dropped open. He heard her confirming hum. She was so very, very blunt. "Have anything to say for yourself?"

Gosh, if she'd put even a little bit of sarcasm or bite into her words, he could have easily mistaken her for a Slytherin. But that wasn't her--she was calm, collected and aloof. Not to mention, far too edgeless and bizarre to fit with the smooth, sly Slytherins. "You're flattering yourself," he sneered, hoping to redeem his obvious let-out of having been staring at her backside.

"You're the one whose been following me," she paused, "_and_ staring at my bum." There was nothing to it. She really was just _so_...so...interesting? Blaise couldn't put a word to her. She fascinated him. "I do wonder where Ginny Weasley could have gotten off to," she said, suddenly, and she evidently was saying it only to herself, "I've been looking for her for a very long time."

"You've been searching for that _Weasley_ all this time," he said, his expression aghast, "I figure she shouldn't be so hard to find, what with having carrots for hair and all."

The Ravenclaw girl shot him a look that made him, very suddenly, want to kiss her. Then, she rolled her eyes and promptly sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. "I'd say it's more like flames, really." At his raised eyebrow, she added, "Her hair, I mean. It's like fire. All the colours of fire."

"You're strange," he said after a moment, "You know that?" She gave him a small, acknowledging smile. He imagined it was not the first time she had been told. He approached her, a smirk on his face. She looked very, very pretty, just sitting there. Something about the way her lips looked, the way her eyes were so _dreamy_...He sat himself down next to her, arranging his robes around himself and leaning back against the stone railing. She seemed to not even notice, leaning back on her hands and staring up at the raining sky. "Lovegood is an interesting name," he said, his smirk growing even more evident. He wasn't looking at her. He found his eyes had followed hers to the rain that seemed to be slipping off an invisible glass ball above their heads.

"Isn't it?"

"Does that make you a good lover?" he said, his voice half sarcastic, half playful.

He didn't expect her to answer, so when she replied, "I guess it does," it was easy to imagine his surprise.

His mind worked quickly, and he took his eyes away from the ceiling of sorts. He looked at her, still eyeing the sky, and felt something tug him forward. He didn't know what part of his subconscious initiated it, even if he had thought about it before. But he kissed her. It was not something that he had expected to do, and probably not something she had expected him to do, because as soon as their lips touched, her hands slipped out from beneath her and he had to hold her against his chest to prevent her falling away. And her lips were so soft and yielding against his, and when he heard her soft gasp of surprise he slipped his tongue in and _really_ kissed her. Finally, he allowed himself to break away from the softness of her mouth, although he made no move to let her go. She stared at him, her large eyes filled with laughter. "And you said I was strange?" she mused, as though he had not just kissed her. Her swollen lips would have said otherwise, but he couldn't help but smile with her. "You can find out if I'm a good lover or not, if you want," she said a few minutes later, in her same blunt and out of the ordinary fashion.

He cocked his head to the side to peer at her face. She wasn't even blushing. "Really?"

"_I_ wouldn't mind," she said, smiling in her lost way, "And judging by the fact that you've let to release me, I don't think you would, either."

He smirked. She was right. She felt far too nice in his arms. "I think I'll do that, then," he replied, running a finger down the side of her neck. Her skin was smooth and just ached for his lips. He didn't leave her aching for long, and once he got started he found he never wanted to stop. She tasted like something wonderful and he sucked and nipped her skin, rising to nibble her earlobe before kissing a trail to her mouth again. When he kissed her this time, she kissed back with so much ardor that he was, again, surprised. For such a mild, almost-crazy person, she was very passionate. He was the first person out of a shirt, her long fingers working swiftly to unbutton and pull away. She worked on his tie and was rid of that, too. Then, they were a flurry of limbs as she pushed him against the rail, settling herself on top of him, straddling his lap. Her lips met his chest, teeth falling lazily down his stomach to meet his belt, which her hands, again, made quick work of. "Hey," he panted, surprised at how quickly he was becoming aroused--and undressed, "this isn't fair."

Her shirt was only halfway down, and he could see only he barest glimpse of her aqua blue bra. Typically, he would have laughed at any girl bold enough to wear an aqua blue bra, but on her, against her pale flesh, it seemed oddly fitting. She smiled at him, her aloof smile, as he pulled her to him again, kissing her neck and collarbone as his fingers worked laborously at her shirt. She helped him, loosening her tie and flinging it off herself so that when finally he made to slip her shirt off, nothing hindered the movement. He started on her right breast, licking and sucking through her bra until his fingers could unclasp it and slip that off, too. One hand fondled her nipple as his mouth sucked the other, causing her to squirm and gasp, running her fingers through his dark hair. "Am-am I good?" she breathed, holding his head desperately to her nipple and she ground down on his arousal through his pants.

He hummed against her flesh in affirmation, unwilling to stop even for a second. Her bare flesh was delicious and tempting and _gosh_ he was straining against his pants so badly it hurt, but the _pressure_ she was putting on his arousal was _wonderful_ and no, stopping wasn't an option and...all thought stopped for him when she wrenched away, his arms sorely missing her presence. His erection, which was in need of some attention, felt all the more uncomfortable. He made no move to hide the bulge it created, watching her hungrily as she looked at him, her head cocked slightly. One of those pleasant little smiles met her face, and although her shirtlessless was so, so evident, he found he couldn't remove his eyes from those two _lips_. "Come back here," he growled, motioning for her to return to his lap. She shook her head mischeviously, and his breath caught when he saw her newest intent. Slowly, as though she knew exactly the kind of torture her movements were putting him through, she slipped off her knickers, letting them dangle temptingly over her sock-clad feet. He didn't remember when she had lost her shoes, but that wasn't really his problem right now.

"Why don't _you_ come over _here_?" she asked, her voice calm as ever. Her skirt obstructed his view of anything between her legs and he found himself itching for it to be out of the way. Before he knew what had happened, he had pounced on her, his mouth connecting with her lips and his hands wrenching her skirt up and her legs apart. He kissed a haphazard trail down her stomach, growling frustratedly at the still present skirt, but forgetting his frustration the next instant. She was wonderful, all downy curls and pink flesh and he was kissing her thighs and then he was tasting _her_ and a throaty moan that could only have come from her lips rang out against the thrum of rain. She tasted of salt and pleasure and he lapped at her thirstily, taking her in and swirling his tongue around the area where she was most sensitive. Before he knew what had happened, her voice pierced the air in a half-sob and her whole body was shaking, and she had pulled his head up to claim his lips.

He didn't say anything as he eyed her flushed skin lustily, letting her recover. He didn't even realize she had undone his pants until her hand slipped in, grasping him firmly. Then it was his turn to groan aloud, his voice animalistic in its pleasure. She stroked him, her hand warm around where he needed her most, constant and utterly _everything_. "Please..." he managed, so lost in the sensation that he hardly realized what he said. Instead, he helped her push his pants downwards, but didn't even get it all the way off. He had pulled her on top of him too quickly, again reclining against the railing as he guided himself into her. She moaned as he did, leaning her head against his shoulder, and he wondered if this was her first time--but it didn't matter now, because she was kissing along his neck and he was holding onto her waist and thrusting into her. Long, measured thrusts that weren't fast or slow, and soon after she was grinding herself against him like before, and he found himself grunting in esctasy.

It seemed to go on for hours. He didn't want to stop. She felt so lovely around him, warm and moist and something just made for him. He didn't want to finish. He wanted her to be able to see her moving against him like this, her breasts bared before him as her hands braced against the railing. Her waist felt like it fit his hands just perfectly and the sensations were amazing. "I...like...rainstorms..." she managed, her hair veiling her face.

He brought a hand up to tuck the sweaty blonde locks behind her ear. "You're going...to be terrible for my...pride," he forced, adding in a smirk as her whole body suddenly stiffened, arching against him as she shuddered and that piercing sob yet again met his ears. Her completion was followed quickly by his, as he thrust up into her and the pleasure washed over him in waves. He bit her collarbone as it happened, holding her close as the waves receded, and then still holding her as the aftershocks trembled through his body.

They were quiet for what seemed hours, content with just holding eachother as everything settled in. "We didn't use contraception," she said suddenly, taking her head away from the shoulder where it had rested. She sounded just as she always did--terribly calm.

His eyes widened. "Shit."

She tutted at his language. "What would happened if I had a baby?" she mused, smiling idly.

His eyes widened even further. "_Don't_ even think of it," he replied scaldingly, "There's the Morning After potion you can use. I'll get you some."

"My father did a column once, on the Quibbler. If a male drinks the Morning After potion, he becomes fertile."

Blaise frowned, perturbed. "You mean he can have a _baby_?"

"Mhhmm," she replied, leaning her lips to his.

Blaise scowled, but didn't say anything. She was absolutely crazy, after all.

"So what exam do you have first?" her dreamy voice questioned against his chest, and he thought that if all her future questions were asked against his chest, he might just forgive her for bringing up exams.

**Author's Note: Phew! Blaise/Luna action, hope you guys enjoyed. I wasn't too sure about the characterisation, so I'll appreciate any comments that would help me better write this pairing (or simply these characters) in the future. How do you guys fancy some Pansy/Neville? I need one more ship--any ship, really--before I can call this fic quits. I really want to reach the five chapter mark, and while I've already decided what the last ship is going to be, the one that should go after this hasn't been so easy to discern. Any recomendations would be appreciated. **

**And I'm really sad because my current flame hasn't spoken to me in about a week. This is good for you guys because it leaves me with far more sexual energy to burn. I'm really up for the smut fics, so honestly, if you have more than one pairing you'd like to see...HIT ME.**

**Reviews please :-)**


	4. Dirty Deeds in the Dungeon

The Magic of Exams

**Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. If you are easily offended, or an itty bitty kiddy, do not proceed :-) My very first Neville/Pansy! Boy was I nervous about writing this one! I hope it turned out alright :-)**

Dirty Deeds in the Dungeon

The dungeons of Hogwarts were, perhaps, the only place in the entire castle that was rarely touched by the melodramas that took place in the lives of its inhabitants. The cold, slate grey stone walls were rough to the touch, and placed disturbingly close together in some places, making the passages narrow and claustrophobic. Every few metres, an oil lamp flickered darkly, sending unnerving shadows skittering across the floors, and around some bends, a dusty old suit of armor would loom, looking particularly ominous in the dim light. In the more obscure areas, great links of metal chain hung from hooks in the ceiling, and you had to dodge around them, all the while thinking of the terrible things they had once been used for. For Pansy Parkinson, however, this scenery had never stirred within her feelings of dread.

Perhaps she had grown into a dark girl, somewhat sadistic in her demeanor, but she had also grown into a rather attractive one. Though she would never be called beautiful, there was a charm to her steeply rounded face, something mysterious about her heavily mascaraed eyes. Her excessively short school skirt, coupled with a dangerously fitted blouse, hinted at luscious curves that all the males of Hogwarts undoubtedly dreamt of seeing. And Pansy, of course, enjoyed being chased.

Now, however, she was the one doing the chasing. She couldn't help but lick her cherry-red lips in anticipation. There was only one person in the entire castle whom she would even consider chasing after, and only one time of year that chasing after that person occured to her. And now, with the entire castle above her buzzing with the knowledge that it was _that_ time of the year, Pansy felt the all too familiar stirring in her chest.

Her prey knew very well that he was just that--prey. He was used to this routine; he had somehow found himself in her approximate vicinity every year around this time since fourth year, which had been host to their first encounter. Pansy licked her lips again as she remembered what she had done to him in the library, how he had stifled his groans and squirmed with her lips around his hardness. He had been an awkward, chubby boy, then. Now, Pansy preferred to use her special form of torture on him for more than just kicks.

He still ran from her though, and Pansy wandered if he enjoyed being chased by her as much as she usually enjoyed being chased by the other male inhabitants of Hogwarts. She knew he was probably uncomfortable in his trousers at this point; already prepared for what she was going to do to him. No matter how innocent this particular boy--Gryffindor, nonetheless--seemed, he did so have a fetish for her.

She continued maneuvering her way through the corridors, following the echo of his heavy footfalls. He had grown so tall and so blessedly broad in the shoulders that Pansy had hardly felt in control last year. His face had elongated and become angled; he had filled out in all the right places and, although he was not muscular or particularly handsome, Pansy found that her attraction to him was almost magnetic.

There was the clatter of a heavy book falling to the floor and it ricocheted loudly off of the bare walls. She smiled as she glanced down, catching a glimpse of a Transfiguration textbook. So her darling had been studying for the exam, had he? She would make him forget every single thing he had learned. The very thought of it caused her panties to moisten.

His heavy breathing soon became evident and Pansy soon found it necessary to dodge around the cobweb-ridden chains that dangled from the ceiling. Dust tickled her nose, but the loud sneeze that momentarily lit the passage with sound did not come from her. She sneered to herself. She hated getting cobwebs in her hair and dust on her shoes. It was time to end this chase and get down to business before he led them any farther into this maze.

She sprinted nimbly forward, quiet as his hurried form came into view in the dim lighting. She walked close enough to step on his heels before he finally spun around, his eyes wide with apprehension.

"Why are you doing this?" Neville Longbottom questioned, pink-faced and looking darn appealing. Pansy smiled seductively, stepping forward even as he backed away. His brown eyes were dark with desire and his mousy-colored hair matted with sweat. She reached out a manicured hand and placed it firmly on his heaving chest and, abruptly, she was against the wall, her hands pinned above her head. "Why?" he questioned again, and Pansy reveled in the feel of his hard, male body against hers. He had grown so tall she now had to look directly up at him.

"Because I want you," she murmured before their lips crashed together. A year's worth of repressed tension was suddenly released and Pansy found herself being dominated by him; her tongue fought a losing battle in their mouths and her soft, curved body was utterly overwhelmed by his large, demanding one.

His hands slipped down to her waist, pulling her against his arousal, and she gasped, bunching his shaggy, sweat-dampened hair in her hands. They spared each other a hot, desperate glance before they both went to work, moving their needy bodies against each other and exploring the familiar territory with their hands and mouths. Pansy groaned when she felt his careful nips at her skin; her unbuttoned shirt was unceremoniously shoved away and down onto the dank, dusty floor and his fingers fiddled with inexperience at her bra clasp. She chuckled deeply as he snorted with frustration and her hands finally managed to rip off his shirt, showing none of the cautious consideration he had done with hers. Her bites at his neck left bruises and purple marks, each making him gasp and whimper.

Finally, she shoved him away, her hair as disheveled as her appearance. She looked dangerous, despite the fact that her bra strap was slipping down her shoulder. She had to take a moment to remember her partner's name. And to plan her next move.

Neville's breathing was heavy, his arousal painfully clear through the sizable tent in his pants. "What's wrong?" he asked, evidently concerned by the way she was watching him, "Did I--"

"Would you shut up with your Gryffindor nobility!" she snarled, unfriendliness radiating off of her although the tone of her voice had become warm and husky. Merlin, she wanted him.

"Sorry," he muttered, reaching for his shirt. She laughed. He thought he had done something wrong and that now she wanted him to leave. Stupid, brainless Gryffindors.

She reached one foot out, stepping on the shirt before he could pull it upwards. "I'm not done with you, yet," she told him, her voice seductive and scathing at the same time--Neville's eyes widened into something akin to relief, lust and fear. "Put your hands over your head," she ordered, her already soaked panties moistening further at the sudden power she had over him. He obeyed, as he so often had in the past, and Pansy surveyed his body approvingly. He was surprisingly tanned and his skin glistened with sweat in the low light.

She stepped forward, once again the predator, and could feel all of the muscles in his body tense with excitement. She approached until she was close enough to brush against his jutting erection, gently grinding her leg into it as she watched his eyes roll up in his head from the sensation. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back into the position she wanted. Then, with a cunning grin, she took each of his hands and wrapped them securely in coils of hanging metal chain. His eyes fluttered open at the feel of the cool, hard material, and he eyed her rather distrustingly.

"Don't worry, pet," she muttered, her hands abruptly skating down his torso to grip his arousal, "Nothing we haven't done before."

Pansy watched Neville's expression intently, her knees feeling weak as she undid his pants and pushed them down to his knees. His boxers made quite an amusing canopy in front of him, but the thought that she was tainting this pure little Gryffindor made the smile that curved her lips humorless. Oh, what a perfect way to get her mind off of exams. All she had to do was put her mouth on him and suddenly her entire world would be his writhing body, tormented with pleasure.

She palmed him gently, in the way that she knew would make his posture slacken defenselessly. Her very, very favorite Gryffindor, Neville was. She stifled a pang of affection for him, instead throwing herself into the task at hand. Indeed, he filled her small hand quite completely, but soon the feel of the fabric between her skin and his velvety shaft was not enough.

His boxers joined his pants around his feet, and again Pansy took her time to admire him. She could already taste that warm, sensitive flesh in her mouth and it made her want the real thing. She did not wait. His strangled yelp sounded exquisite in the silence of the dungeons, made even more so by the sensation of him in her mouth. She often wondered if she enjoyed these outings more than he did, though the variety of noises he made as she continued her work provided good debate.

She dragged her tongue and lips over him, licking and lapping at his tip. She could feel his entire body strain from thrusting into her mouth and heard the hanging chains clink as his hands came to grips with the fact that they could not bury in her hair to have some control over her movement. She teased him for a long time, never really getting started the way she knew he wanted her to. At last, she made a ring with two of her fingers and placed it at his base; using this and her mouth, she made the vocabulary and volume of his noises increase tenfold.

Finally, she felt him spill into her mouth and she swallowed the bitter fluid eagerly. It tasted of victory, and Neville definitely looked beaten as she rose from her knees in front of him. He sagged into the chains that she had wrapped around his hands and his body still shuddered in the aftershocks of his orgasm. She adjusted her clothing regally, smirking as he tiredly began to extricate himself from his bonds. She watched him pull his pants up, and then moved to leave.

"Pansy," he called quietly, suddenly, and something in her stomach flipped at the use of her name on his lips. She turned around to face him, smiling as she took in his destroyed shirt and rugged appearance. Right now, she thought, right now he could pass for handsome.

"What, Neville?" she replied, realizing with some disturbance that she liked the way his name felt when she said it. She didn't know whether she should be disgusted or happy.

"You never let me..." he flushed, and her heart was suddenly beating with something--she wanted to deny it strongly but--something terribly close to hope. "You never let me..." his face was a delightful shade of beet, but she still couldn't find the words to insult him with. She was too focussed on guessing what he might be going to say to her. "You never let me make you feel nice, too," he finally choked out, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dried. It took her a few moments to realize that she was probably looking like a big-eyed fool, and she hurriedly tried to cover it up. "You wouldn't know what to do anyway," she said, offhandedly, trying to appear just as aloof as she felt excited.

His features, open and honest as they were with his fellow Gryffindors, darkened to indignation which nearly overshadowed his undoubtedly towering humiliation. "I would _too_," he retorted, and she laughed genuinely at his hot-headed response.

"And you'd like to try?" she said quietly, after a suitable interval.

It took a few moments for Neville to regain his composure, during which time Pansy found her heart was beating at about a thousand miles a minute. "I..." it almost seemed as though he would stutter, a habit he had grown out of long ago, "I would."

Pansy bit her lip and hoped to Merlin that he did not see. This bumbling idiot was having a strange effect on her this evening. "Shouldn't you study your Transfiguration or something?" she wanted to scowl at how unconvincing her question sounded. It was like she wanted him to try but, at the same time, didn't want him to know that she wanted him to. She also wanted to pull her hair out and hoped fervently that it did not show on her face.

Neville huffed at her question. "I would never be able to concentrate, anyway," he said, companionably, almost as though he were not arguing with her as to why she should allow him to...

"Maybe another time," she said, finally, pulling her hand up to her forehead in exasperation. She needed to go somewhere where he wouldn't be staring at her with that goddamn endearing look on his face. Why was this stupid Gryffindor endearing all of a sudden? Pansy decided that she was under too much stress from exams. She turned away and made to leave.

"Tomorrow?" he shouted after her, once she was a good distance away from him.

She wondered what would happen if she could pull her traitorous heart out of her chest--it had skipped a happy beat at his enthusiastic inquiry.

"Sure," she heard herself calling back, her hand flying up to her equally traitorous mouth.

Goddamn exams at Hogwarts always made her act irrationally.

**Author's Note: Phew! Hope you guys liked it; I worked pretty darn hard on it. I really had no idea how to characterize Neville **_**or**_** Pansy, so I tried my best to display them in the way that I see them. I want the next chapter to have Fred and/or George, so if anyone has any two Hogwarts or ex-Hogwarts females to place them with...And if you fancy any other couples, I do tally up all the reviews I have and see which is most popular, so drop me one!**

**It's my goal to finish this story this summer! Mostly because my boyfriend is away on vacation for the entire two months I have off school (T.T). And yes, this is not the same boyfriend that I had last year, or the year before that. It's a new one. And he's effectively knocked one of the wheels off my virgin train with getting me effectively addicted to an act disconcertingly similar to that one written in this chapter. Oh dear. I hope he doesn't derail the whole thing ;-)**

**Alas, send me reviews, dearies!**


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